


The Perfect Year

by WorryinglyInnocent



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, F/M, Festive fic, Mistletoe and Wine, Rumbelle - Freeform, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 20:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9200477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WorryinglyInnocent/pseuds/WorryinglyInnocent
Summary: A very belated sequel toMistletoe and Wine. As Christmas comes to the quiet town of Storybrooke, school librarian Belle finds herself increasingly drawn to the reclusive Mr Gold. And what better time for Gold to make a new start than with a new year?





	

_I don’t need a crowded ballroom, everything I need is here._  
_If you’re with me, this year will be,_  
 _The Perfect Year_

_Lyrics from ‘The Perfect Year’ from Sunset Boulevard._

====

**The Perfect Year**

Christmas Eve. The most magical night of the year, when children up and down the country were shepherded off to bed by their frantic and frazzled parents, hoping to be able to catch a glimpse of Father Christmas in his sleigh overhead, like a shooting star silhouetted against the moon.

Christmas Eve, when carollers sang and continental Europe feasted and exchanged gifts. Soon the church in the little town of Storybrooke would open its doors for the crib service, where mulled wine flowed in force and festive spirit coated everything in a sense of warmth and togetherness.

Christmas Eve, the one night of the year that Gold hated above all others. He despised and loathed it more than he could describe, and yet, in his own grim way, he still celebrated it.

Dusk was falling, it was time to light the candles. The townsfolk often wondered at the lantern that hung outside his front door; only ever lit on one night of the year, but on that one night it was lit without fail, in all weathers. Tonight, the weather was simply cold. There was fresh snow on the ground from a brief flurry earlier in the afternoon, but it had since settled, leaving the air crisp, dry and frosty as he ventured onto the porch with matches in hand and took down the lantern from where it hung beside the front door.

“Mr Gold!”

He turned his head a little on hearing his name and saw Belle French standing at the bottom of the driveway beyond the gate, wearing a knitted bobble hat with rather floppy reindeer antlers sticking out of it. Their evening in the pub after she had come carol singing at his door seemed a very long time ago, even though it was only the previous week. On seeing that she had his attention, she waved. Gold did not return the gesture, turning back to his task at hand, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Belle tilt her head in something akin to confusion. His rejection had hurt her, and something inside him twisted at the thought. She was so young and lovely, she shouldn’t be wasting her time and friendship on an old beast like him, but she genuinely seemed to want to get to know him, and he felt a stab of guilt for pushing her away.

“Mr Gold?” she repeated.

The lantern lit, he hung it up again and retreated back inside, closing the door with a certain finality, a barrier against the world and against Belle. He leaned back against the wood and closed his eyes, thinking of Belle standing outside in the snow staring at the door he had effectively slammed in her face, throwing her offer of friendship back at her, unwanted. Never mind that he wanted it more than almost anything in the world.

He slid slowly down the door until he was sitting on the floor, head in his hands. An old monster, brooding in his lair, pushing away another person he cared for on Christmas Eve of all nights. History had such a horrible habit of repeating itself, and Belle deserved so much better. Far better for this to happen now, than for her to get too attached.

At least the lantern was lit to guide Bae home.

He was not quite sure how long he sat there behind the door, wallowing in self-pity. It was pathetic, he knew that, but since there was no-one around to deride it as such, there was no incentive to pick himself up, snap out of it and move on. Indeed, he only got up and moved through into the living room when the draft under the door became slightly too cold and his leg began to seize up.

The only light came from the Christmas tree, soft and sparkling. Bae had always loved the Christmas tree, ever since he was a babe, he would stare at it enraptured for hours on end. For a moment he could almost feel a three-year-old peering out from behind his legs, looking at the tree in wonderment, but then he shook off the sensation and settled himself in his chair to wait for Bae to come home. It was always the same, every year since he disappeared.

He never came, and if by some miracle he did come, then he would not be the same fourteen year old who had left ten years ago, but it never stopped Gold from hoping that maybe, this year would be the year, and it never stopped his fear that the one night the lantern was not lit, Bae would return but be unable to find the house and move on again, convinced that his father did not care for him.

The Christmas lantern had not been lit that night, the night he disappeared. They always lit it, every night of advent. It was a tradition that had sprung from who knew where, just after Milah left and Bae was facing his first Christmas without his mother. But that night, Gold had not lit it, and forever after, he would be convinced that the lack of light was the reason that Bae had not returned.

It had been such a stupid argument. Gold couldn’t even remember what they had been fighting about. He’d just had more surgery on his knee and he was in excruciating pain despite the drugs making him numb and fuzzy, but he knew that was no excuse. Bae had stormed out to go to a friend’s house, and Gold had let him, despite the waning light, and had proceeded to defy doctor’s orders and down a few double whiskies on top of his prescription.

By the time he woke up, it had gone midnight and Bae had still not returned. The friend he had been going to had not seen him all evening. Gold had not lit the lantern at sundown, and there had been no light to guide Bae home. The feeling of cold dread running down his spine was all too easy to remember, as was the freezing night and Christmas weekend he and many of the other villagers spent combing the surrounding area for any trace of his son. But as time had gone on and that crucial forty-eight hours had passed, so the searchers and police became more and more convinced that Bae was dead, and so suspicious eyes had begun to turn to Gold. It was no secret that he had a temper on him and no secret that he’d argued with Bae before he’d vanished, and no secret that he’d been drinking when he’d called the police.

Being arrested on suspicion of murdering his own son was possibly the worst experience of his life after losing his son in the first place, and Gold shuddered at the memory. He had been released without charge due to lack of evidence, but the suspicion always remained, and so the town had begun to shun him. Public opinion had swung so quickly from sympathy for a frantic single father whose son had gone missing to viewing him a pariah. Gold had let them think whatever they wanted to think. He knew that he had not killed Bae, but he would not deny responsibility for his leaving the house that night, never to return. He retreated away from the town, and whilst he left them alone, so they left him alone. Life was far easier that way.

Until Belle. Bright, beautiful Belle, who knew nothing of the shadows in his past and who had reached out to him, accepting him with her non-judgmental smile and merry eyes. And like the old fool he was, he had reached back, like a drowning man he had clung on for dear life. But it had been a bad idea. Sooner or later she would learn about him from her friends around the town, and when that time came she would be glad at his shutting her out. It did not do for a woman like her to be associated with a man like him. He’d had a taste of human kindness for the first time in ten years, and that would have to be enough.

The night wore on and Gold continued to sit in the dark, staring at the tree lights, lost in his memories. it was only once the day had dawned outside that he moved, switching off the lights and methodically beginning to pack everything away - the presents that had remained unopened for ten years, the Christmas decorations and the tree itself, all back down into the cellar to wait for next year. The lantern would continue to burn until the candle burnt itself out.

It was half past nine on Christmas morning when Gold finally dragged himself to bed.

Bae had not returned, and Christmas was over.

X

It was utterly typical, Belle thought. She’d gone out for a nice Boxing Day walk through the snowy countryside, and now she was caught in what was turning out to be a blizzard, because she’d been too caught up in her own thoughts to pay any attention to the worsening weather. She could make it home, she was fairly sure of that, but it wasn’t going to be a pleasant journey, and she hoped that she could find somewhere in which to wait out the worst of the snow. Of course, in again utterly typical fashion, Belle had forgotten that she no longer lived in a big, bustling city, and that none of the little village’s shops or tearooms were open on Boxing Day. She sighed, huddled further into her coat, and began the trudge along the deserted main street back towards her flat.

It wasn’t her fault that she’d been so lost in thought. She laid the blame for that firmly at Gold’s door. She had been thinking about his attitude on Christmas Eve and his cool dismissal of her then. If the stories about his son were to be believed, then he had every reason to be in a foul temper on that of all nights, and she wished that there was something she could do to ease his suffering.

A light in a shop window caught her eye, and Belle automatically turned towards it in search of warmth. It was probably just a shopkeeper having accidentally left their lights on over the Christmas holiday, but as she neared the door, she saw that the sign said it was open.

It was utterly typical that this, the only open shop in the village in the middle of this snowstorm, was Gold’s Haberdashery.

The bell above the door jangled as she opened it and closed it again behind her, and Belle took a look around the seemingly deserted shop. It was a beautiful place, shelves piled high with wools and threads and ribbons; bolts of fabric mounted on rollers behind the counter. It was almost like stepping into another world, the charming period splendour of a Dickens novel. She was greeted with the soft sound of the old radio sitting on top of one of the shelves, but there was no sign of Gold himself.

_“And we’ll have more news on the Neverland Farm raid after the weather…”_

“Hello?” Belle called. Surely Gold must be in here somewhere. “Is anyone there?”

The only other sound that had been pervading the shop, a soft, almost mechanical whirring, stopped, and Belle heard the dull tap of Gold’s cane against the wooden floor. A moment later the man himself appeared from out of the back room.

He smiled when he saw her, and Belle took that as a good sign. After Christmas Eve she was really not sure where she stood with him.

“I’m sorry, the weather outside’s awful and you’re the only place open and I…”

Gold held up a hand to stop her little babbling litany.

“I’m the one who should be apologising,” he said. “Do come on through, my dear, you must be freezing. I’ll make some tea.”

Belle followed him through to the backroom. If she thought that the front of the shop was a treasure trove, then the back was a veritable Aladdin’s cave. Belle stood for several moments, open-mouthed and gazing in wonder at the stacks of haberdashery materials piled all around the room, and the centrepiece, a full-size spinning wheel. That was evidently what had been whirring.

“It’s just… wow…” Belle said, finishing her statement rather feebly.

“It’s home,” Gold said with a shrug from the work bench where he was pouring water from the kettle into a teapot. “More of a home than my house, sometimes. Please, sit down and warm up.”

He indicated the chair behind the workbench, next to the storage heater, and Belle sat down in it, watching the snow on her coat and boots melt into a puddle on the floor as Gold brought the teapot over and poured two cups.

"I'm sorry for my brusqueness on Christmas Eve," he said. "I am not at my most sociable on that particular night, but that is still no excuse for rudeness."

Belle smiled and blew on her tea to cool it to a drinkable temperature. "It's all right. I know what happened, with your son. It's perfectly understandable that this is an... unpleasant time of year for you."

"You know what happened," Gold repeated. He was regarding her with some degree of scrutiny, as if he expected her to turn tail and run at the next available opportunity.

Belle nodded. "I'm sorry for your loss." She paused before continuing, because she felt it needed to be said, given his wariness and incredulity at her presence after everything. "I'm sorry for the way people have turned against you because of it."

There was silence for a long moment.

"Thank you," Gold said, and there was genuine gratitude in his eyes. At length he returned to the spinning wheel, and the gentle whirring noise began again as he deftly spun the carded wool into yarn. Belle watched him for a while. The motion was hypnotic almost, constantly turning round and round, all the cogs and wheels spinning and gelling together into a single function, something so complex creating something so simple.

"It's mesmerising," Belle said.

Gold chuckled. "I like to watch the wheel turn," he said. "It helps me forget, clears my head. I always know that whatever else happens in life, the wheel is a reliable constant. It will never let me down."

“It must be a great comfort to have something like that,” Belle said. “I don’t think I’ve got anything similar. I mean, I always have my books, but it’s not really the same.”

“I don’t know. Losing yourself in a favourite book must help you forget your troubles just as much as my spinning does. We all have different ways of coping with these kind of things.”

“I suppose.” Belle took a sip of her tea. “Where did you learn to spin?” she asked eventually. “It’s not a skill that you come across very often.”

“My aunts taught me,” Gold said, deftly taking another handful of roving and continuing to spin the wool without breaking the wheel’s motion. “They brought me up to follow in their footsteps, in their profession. They had been haberdashers and drapers, and so that was the path I was destined for as well.”

“Did you ever want to be anything else?” Belle asked. “I mean, I’m lucky, I’ve always wanted to be a librarian and that’s what I do.”

Gold leaned back, regarding the wheel with some degree of scrutiny.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “When I was a boy I wanted to be a knight, but that wasn’t exactly going to come about. I don’t think I would want to do anything else. Spinning, wool; they’ve been a part of my life for so long now that I can’t really imagine an existence without them.” He paused and gave her an amused smile. “Would you like to learn? I have some spare roving that I won’t be spinning to sell, you can practice on that.”

Belle jumped at the opportunity, setting down her teacup so fast that it knocked onto its side, taking a chip out of the rim.

“Oh no!” she exclaimed on seeing the damage. “I’m so sorry!”

Gold shrugged. “It’s just a cup.” He scooted up the spinning wheel bench and patted the smooth wood beside him. “Here, take a seat.”

It took Belle a few goes before she got the hang of it, and her strands of yarn were nowhere near as delicate as the fine, even wool that Gold had created, but he kept praising her efforts nonetheless, until the final wisps of roving were all used up in a somewhat lumpy ball of yarn.

“I’ll make a scarf out of it,” Belle announced, picking up the ball.

Gold raised one eyebrow. “It would have to be a scarf for a midget,” he pointed out. “Might fit a guinea pig, I suppose.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “I don’t care. I made this yarn and I’m going to knit something out of it.”

“Egg cosy,” Gold suggested. “I think you’ve got enough there for an egg cosy.”

“I’m being serious!”

“So am I!”

They fell about laughing at that point, and when Belle came back to herself, she realised that she had been leaning in without really noticing it, and evidently Gold had as well, for there were only a few inches between them. A small smile quirked the corner of Gold's mouth, and Belle's eyes flickered upwards.

"There's no mistletoe in here," Gold said softly.

"I think that's a terrible oversight on your part," Belle replied.

He kissed her then, a shy, tentative kiss, just the slightest press of his lips against hers, and Belle took the initiative, cupping his cheeks gently and increasing the pressure. Gold resisted the increased intimacy at first, stiffening a little, but then his hands were on her shoulders and he was kissing her back.

At length, Belle pulled back and smiled, and Gold just blinked before returning the expression.

“I guess we don’t need mistletoe after all,” he said. He sounded a little dazed, as if he was having trouble believing that the past minute or so had really just happened. Belle couldn’t help but giggle. “What?” he asked. “I know I’m out of practice but surely I can’t be that bad?”

It wasn’t a joke, Belle realised; there was genuine fear in his eyes behind the flippant words.

“Hmm,” she said playfully. “You know, I think I’m going to need another go to make absolutely sure. And you know what they say. Practice makes perfect.”

She slipped her hands back under the curtain of his long, greying hair, and leaned in to capture his lips again. He was bolder this time, more assured of her affections, and he didn’t hold back. Belle smiled against his mouth. Her Christmas presents had been nothing to write home about, but Boxing Day had definitely yielded some wonderful surprises.

She wasn’t quite sure how long they stayed there in the back room, exchanging kisses and making small talk about favourite books and authors, but soon it was dark outside, and Gold was locking up the shop. The snow had died back to a light flurry, and Belle accepted Gold’s arm around her as she cuddled in close under his umbrella and they walked down the main street in the direction of her flat.

“Thank you for this afternoon,” she said once they reached her porch.

“Thank you for the company,” Gold replied. “I don’t often get such wonderful companionship.”

Belle grinned. “You’re very welcome. I guess… I’ll see you around?”

Gold nodded as he stepped away from the porch. “I’ll see you around, Belle.”

She watched him down to the end of the road before his black coat and black umbrella vanished into the night, and she went into the warmth once more, unable to stop giggling to herself at what had just transpired.

X

Belle had been at Astrid and Leroy’s New Year’s Eve party (well, Astrid’s New Year’s Eve party that Leroy was only attending under sufferance because it was being held in his own house) for all of twenty minutes when she realised just how bad an idea it had been to come. She barely knew anyone apart from her fellow school staff, and every single person there, apart from herself, was with a partner. It was not that Belle felt particularly jealous of the loved-up couples, or that she felt very left out of the conversation. But there was a notable absence amongst the townsfolk, and it was this absence that Belle felt as she looked around Astrid’s living room, still nursing her first glance of mulled wine which was going rapidly cold. She knew what Gold would do if he was here. He would palm off his wine and champagne onto someone else and find a bottle of whisky and a secluded corner where they could continue their conversation uninterrupted by well-wishers.

Belle sighed and wended her way towards the dining room, where Leroy had escaped to.

“You aren’t a party person then, Leroy?”

He shook his head and drained his tumbler. “At least I’ve got access to my own whisky here. Normally I have to take a hipflask when Astrid drags me out to these things. What about you, sister?” he asked. “What are you doing hiding out in here?”

Belle sighed, wondering how to explain her feelings.

“I get it.” Leroy gave a grin. “Somewhere else you’d rather be?”

“Not really,” Belle said. “Just someone else I’d rather be with.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t take three guesses who. Astrid saw you coming out of the haberdasher’s the other day.”

Belle groaned and buried her head in her hands. “Oh lord, does everyone know?”

“I’m sure the news is making the rounds as we speak,” Leroy said dryly. “But there’s no need to blush. It’s not unheard of for people to visit haberdashery shops.”

Belle sighed again. “What do you think I should do, Leroy?”

“Go for it.”

Belle blinked. That had not been the answer that she was expecting.

“Really?”

“Of course. So the guy’s got a reputation for something that happened a decade ago. So what? Who cares what the rest of the town think? So he’s grumpy and antisocial. So what? He obviously gets on well enough with you or you wouldn’t be wanting to spend time with him. If it’ll make you happier, then I say go for it.”

Belle smiled. “Thanks, Leroy. Say, can I buy a bottle of whisky off you?”

X

Belle had not realised how far it was to Gold’s house, nor how little snow on the ground had been cleared at his end of the village. Small wonder that people rarely saw him out and about in winter given the slippery conditions. She should really have gone home and got her heavy-duty footgear on, but by the time she was halfway to Gold’s house, it was a bit late to turn back, so she continued through the slush, gritting her teeth and ignoring the cold water that was seeping into her boots. To make matters worse, it was beginning to snow again, heavily, the fat white blobs soaking through her coat and making her even colder, and wetter. Finally she reached the pink house, and seeing the lights on in the upstairs windows, she gave a sigh of relief that her venture had not been in vain. She trudged up the path and knocked sharply on the door.

There was no response, and her teeth were starting to chatter in her head, so Belle knocked again, with slightly more urgency this time. This yielded a reaction from within the building, and Belle was startled by the vehemence with which Gold could be heard swearing beyond the door. She was beginning to think that she had made a terrible mistake in coming to his house, but she was too cold to turn around again now.

The door opened to reveal Gold wearing a dressing gown. And very little else, it seemed, as Belle cast an involuntary glance down at his bare calves and ankles.

“Belle?” His previous anger seemed completely forgotten the moment that he saw her, and Belle could tell that he had been rendered completely speechless.

“C-c-can I come in, please?” she asked, her teeth chattering.

“Of course, of course…” Gold stood back to let her into the house. “You do seem to make a habit of getting caught out in snowstorms, Miss French,” he said, bolting the door behind her again against the cold wind and taking her coat, shaking the snow onto the mat.

“I w-w-was at a p-p-party,” Belle managed to stammer. “The-the-then I realised I’d r-r-rather spend New Year’s with you instead.” She held out the bottle of whisky. “You didn’t strike me as a champagne p-p-person.”

Gold took the bottle from her and put it on the sideboard in the hall.

“Oh Belle…” He smiled and rubbed her arms through the thin sleeves of her dress. “There’s a hot bath just run. Go upstairs, get those wet clothes off and get in the tub before you freeze solid in my hallway.”

“Are you p-p-propositioning me, Mr Gold?” Belle asked, making her way towards the staircase and trying not to drip too much snow onto his pristine carpets.

“Aye, if you don’t take your clothes off, I’ll do it for you. Go on, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”

Belle nodded gratefully and hurried up the stairs, her skirt leaving a trail of drips as she went. It was easy to find the bathroom, tendrils of steam softly curling around the door, and she undressed quickly, leaving her wet clothes in a heap on the pristine white tiles. There were no bubbles in the bath, but there was evidently something in it as the water had an opaque sheen to it. Belle looked at the bottle on the edge of the tub – bath salts for easing bone and muscular pain. She felt a little guilty at turning Gold out of his bath, but the cold outweighed her other feelings and the gooseflesh breaking out all over her bare skin left no time for second-guessing. She sank down into the hot water, submerging up to her chin, and felt the warmth permeate through her body, right into her bone marrow almost.

There was a knock at the door. Belle cast a quick glance down at the water but its opacity had remained and her modesty was intact.

“Come in, there’s nothing to see.”

Gold entered with a cup of tea in his free hand, towels and clothes folded over his arm. He’d put pyjamas on under the dressing gown, and Belle wasn’t sure if she was glad or disappointed. A wild, impulsive part of herself considered asking him to join her. It was his bathtub after all, and he’d be monopolising it at this very moment had she not rung his doorbell. The rest of her sensibly decided against it. So far they’d shared one evening and one afternoon of - admittedly excellent - kissing. There was a way to go before sharing a bath was on the agenda. He took her pile of soggy clothing, saying something about putting in the drier, and Belle was left alone with her thoughts, thoughts that she was trying desperately to keep from veering into less than innocent territory.

Once she was sufficiently warmed through and her tea was drunk, Belle got out of the tub and dried off, pulling on the socks and pyjamas that Gold had left for her. She ventured downstairs carefully, not wanting to trip in the too-large socks, and she ran Gold to ground in the living room. The lights were dim but there was a roaring fire in the grate and the room was cosy, the TV on but the sound turned down low as the news played.

_“Police continue to work with local authorities to reunite victims of the Neverland Farm cult with their families. The compound was raided on Christmas Eve after months of planning… The cult leader, Malcolm Spinner, alias Peter Pan, was killed by a police marksman during the raid after taking hostages… Some of the victims had been held prisoner at the farm for over ten years after being abducted as teenagers…”_

“It’s horrible, isn’t it?” Belle said. Gold turned to see her standing in the doorway and she nodded towards the TV. “All those kids.”

“Well, it’s all over for them now,” Gold said firmly, and he turned the TV off, the images of the police raid winking out into blackness. “Come in and stay warm,” he added, patting the sofa beside him, and Belle came over, accepting the tumbler of whisky he’d poured for her and letting him tuck a blanket in around her frame.

“I look like a monk,” she protested, touching the soft brown wool.

“You look like a very beautiful monk,” Gold corrected, and to prove the point he kissed her. Belle knew that she was grinning like the Cheshire Cat when she finally pulled away, but looking around the room, her brow furrowed.

“Where’s your Christmas tree?” she asked.

“Pardon?”

“When Henry and I were singing here the other week, I could see that you had a Christmas tree up in here.” She pointed over to the empty corner where the beautifully decorated tree had stood. “I was hoping I’d get a closer look at it, it was so pretty. Much nicer than my little miniature one on the bookcase.”

“Yes.” Gold wasn’t meeting her eyes, staring over at the corner, and Belle could see the sorrowful lines in his face. “I… I don’t keep the tree up past Christmas,” he said quietly. “I never have. Not since…”

Belle groaned inwardly and leaned her head back against the cushions, wondering if she could have put her foot in it any more spectacularly if she had been trying. Of course Christmas was going to be a sensitive subject for him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to open any old wounds.”

Gold gave her a brief flicker of a wan smile, but he didn’t say anything else, continuing to stare at the empty space, almost as if he could see the tree there.

“Bae always loved the tree so much,” he said, more to himself than to her, Belle thought. “Without him… It felt like there was no reason to keep the tree up if he wasn’t going to be here to see it.”

They fell into silence, and even though Belle had never met Bae, she could feel the boy’s absence in the house acutely. Looking around the living room, she could see the photographs on the mantel tracking his growth. In a way, it seemed like Gold had just stopped once he lost his son, and the world had moved on without him. She wanted to say something to reassure him, and let him know that he wasn’t alone anymore. He had her, if he was willing to let her in, and she wanted to help him move again. Not necessarily move on; she didn’t think that he would ever move on from such a devastating loss and it was not her place to make him. But just to help him move forward, and believe that there was a future out there that could be lived in without losing sight of the past. She just didn’t know how to say it without it sounding cliched, or coming out wrong.

Actions spoke louder than words, she decided, and she flapped one hand free from the many folds of blankets, reaching across to take his fingers in hers.

After a moment, he turned back to her, returning the pressure of her hand.

“You don’t have to be alone, you know,” she said. “No-one deserves that, no matter how much they might think they do.”

Gold gave a weak smile. “You have no idea how much those words mean to me,” he mumbled.

“I mean them,” Belle said earnestly. “I’m sorry for what you’re going through, and what you’ve been going through for so many years, but you don’t have to go through it on your own any more.”

There were tears shining in Gold’s eyes when he looked up at her again.

“Thank you, Belle.”

Far away there was the sound of fireworks, and Belle saw the faintest flicker of their light exploding against the sky through the gap where the curtains did not quite meet. On cue, the grandfather clock in the hallway began to strike twelve.

“I think that’s the New Year,” she said.

Gold smiled. “I think you’re right.” He chinked his whisky tumbler against hers. “Happy New Year, Belle.”

“And a Happy New Year to you too, Mr Gold.” There was a long pause whilst the clock finishing its chiming.

“You know the tradition, of course,” Belle continued, inching a little closer.

“Kiss the person closest to you at midnight,” Gold finished for her, a little smirk curling at the corner of his mouth.

His hands were cold as he slipped them under her hair to cup her face and slant his mouth over hers, but Belle didn’t care. He tasted of whisky and chocolate, and he was soft and pliant against her lips, the tentative shyness from their first kiss in the backroom of the haberdasher’s completely forgotten.

"Happy New Year," Gold said again, once they finally broke apart.

"I'm going to make sure it is," Belle replied. "For both of us."

He smiled. "I'd like that a lot."

"Good. So would I."

The world had shut him out for too long, and in return, he had shunned it. Now was the time for him to come back into the world. Not immediately, of course. It would take time, as it would with all things. But it was time for him to begin letting people in again, and Belle could help with that. She leaned in to capture another kiss, one that Gold readily provided, and she felt his arms come around her back, fingers splaying and pulling her in closer. Belle hooked her arms around his neck, fully intending to ignore the rest of the world for a little while. Building bridges could wait a day or so.

The world, however, had other ideas, as a sharp, business-like knock came against the front door, and with a little reluctance, Gold broke away.

“Who in God’s name?” he muttered. “At this time of night?”

“Well, we’re still awake,” Belle pointed out. “You never know, it might be someone wanting to wish you a Happy New Year.”

Gold raised an incredulous eyebrow.

“I don’t think that even the town’s best drunkard on their meandering way home from a party could take a wrong turning and end up at my door,” he grumbled, getting up off the sofa and searching for his cane on the floor beside him. The knock came again, polite but still brisk, and Belle’s brow furrowed. It sounded like someone visiting in an official capacity, rather than a New Year well-wisher, and she followed Gold out of the living room cautiously as he made his way towards the front door. She could just about see the outline of their visitor through the stained glass. They didn’t appear to be swaying under the influence of alcohol.

“Hopefully it’ll be a dark-haired man,” Belle said. “They always say that the first person over the threshold in the New Year should be a dark-haired man, and that he’ll bring good luck for the year.”

It was Graham, the local policeman, standing in the doorway once Gold had opened the door, and Belle saw Gold’s posture immediately stiffen, bristling and defensive. She knew that he held no love for the police after his experiences when Bae had disappeared, and even though Graham hadn’t been in the town all that long, the fear and suspicion remained.

“Can I help you, officer?” Gold asked coolly.

“Actually, I’m hoping that I can help you,” Graham said. “I know it’s late but I’ve only just received the news, and I saw that your lights were on and I thought you’d appreciate knowing sooner rather than later.”

“Knowing what?” Gold asked through gritted teeth.

“You’ve heard about the Neverland Farm raid, I presume?” Graham continued, stepping into the house as Gold finally stood back to let him in. Belle’s breath caught in her throat. Graham was certainly a dark-haired man, and if his words were going in the direction that she thought they were, then he was going to be bringing them luck.

“It’s hard not to have done,” Gold pointed out, but the cynicism in his words was forced, outweighed by the tentative tone of hope.

“Mr Gold, we’ve found your son.”

 


End file.
